


two birds

by orphan_account



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Not beta'd we die like men, heyyyy guys im back and i have no explination for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 02:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18216758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: he finds a strange man in a gas station who has white hair and a beat-up winnebago and theyre both headed to wv.





	two birds

At the point of the time of him being away from Sylvain – not exiled, he reminds himself -- and how long he’s been traveling, Barclay was more than certain that he would be passing out from exhaustion by how long he had been walking for. This was exhausting. He had to not talk to anyone, for anything, because of the simple fact that he was shoved onto a planet where he didn’t understand the language. He was lucky that he was good at picking up languages, which is something that he recently just learned in the past few days he’s been in this horrible place. He was also a bit surprised on how . . . strange these people acted. Some disliked others for no reason, and then others were just . . . over-the-top, and Barclay wasn’t that much of a fan of it.

Of course, Sylvain was like this, but this was an entire new environment. He had a right to, in his own opinion.

He was miserable, exhausted, and he could smell rain coming dangerously close to being a thing.

Finally reaching peak exhaustion, Barclay settled down against a tree, ignoring the fact that it was still going to rain and the dirt was going to turn into mud and get into the jeans he’s been wearing from the past few days. Whatever. They were only a few dollars anyways, he could . . . possibly wash them. Maybe.

He closes his eyes and thinks of the last Sylphs he saw on Sylvain, the royal Seer, and his mentor, Janelle. They were discussing something very quietly that Barclay couldn’t remember the words to, but the Seer was chittering nervously, twitching ever so slightly. Barclay could see a pair of tight shackles on the Seer’s wrists, which just made him curious as to what the royal Seer, of all Sylphs, was getting exiled for.

He figured that he shouldn’t stick his nose into it, so he never really did and didn’t approach Janelle about his questions. A bit after that, Barclay left, feeling that he was . . . done with Sylvain, for whatever reason that he couldn’t exactly explain at the moment. Or, possibly never. The latter is much more preferable to him, in all honesty.

* * *

It’s a few hours before he wakes up, and the rain has passed and he’s only just slightly wet and vaguely smelling like how a wet dog would smell. Quickly, he checks his pockets and, yeah, his wallet is still there. He digs it out and finds the forged ID, which wasn’t that hard to make, and the . . . twelve dollars he had before. He was feeling just slightly more rested than before, which was good.

It meant he could get up and start walking towards . . . he wasn’t sure yet. Just somewhere. Preferably somewhere with food, because he’s hungry and he’s been ignoring that for the longest time. Which he shouldn’t do. So he gets up and dusts himself off. Barclay grimaces at the dried mud stuck to the back of his jeans, and figures that he’ll somehow fix that later as he starts the – hopefully not too long – walk towards some food, shoving his wallet in his back pants and nervously played with his bracelet as he did so.

* * *

He sees the man when he stumbles upon the first source of food that he found – a gas station. Slightly run down, but it was better than nothing. Barclay pays him no mind, going to walk around the isles and grabbing something at random that looked slightly edible. He doesn’t pay attention to what it is or what the pricing is, he’s just hungry.

Barclay stands behind the man in the line, shuffling nervously as he stood there. The other has a low ponytail and surprisingly white hair, which Bacrlay feels like he’s drawn to in some sort of odd way. He’s got more of a slightly darker skin tone than Barcaly’s disguise has, and freckles.

Barclay decides he looks like a mess of a hippie; baggy clothing, too skinny that borders on unhealthy, and a large pair of red glasses that are round.

He pats his pockets and tsks under his breath, letting out a mutter of intangible words that Barclay doesn’t hear. His voice is soft, kind of lilting, and almost pleasant to listen to. The cashier raises their eyebrow at him, and it takes Barclay a moment.

Impulsively, he slides his item onto the counter and pays for both of them.

Then, he takes his stuff and leaves.

 

After that, he simply expects the man to leave him alone. Doesn’t expect for the other man to follow him as he starts trekking his way to god knows where.

“Hey, wait up. Please.” At that, Barclay turns and raises an eyebrow.

He sees his own reflection in a pair of large, red glasses. “Yeah?” he asks, trying to keep any edge of mistrust out of his voice.

Glasses Man grins, and there’s too many sharp teeth, which kind of unease Barclay. “I wanted to say thank you.”

Bacrlay simply nods, and clears his throat with a “You’re welcome.” He turns to leave and he can still hear Glasses Man following behind him.

That’s . . . annoying, but he isn’t sure how to politely tell the man – he really needs a name for this dude – how to shove off without being rude. But the man cuts in again.  
  
‘My name’s Andy.”

Finally. A name.

Barclay nods, corner of his lips quirking up just slightly. “Glenn.” Then, out of curiosity, “Are you travelling?”

Andy nods, smiling just slightly. It’s a bit softer, this time. “Yep,” and he gestures to the Winnebago with a dent on the front of it.

Then, hesitantly, Barclay asks, “Where are you goin’?”

“West Virginia.”

He feels bad for asking, but he really can’t help but to. It’s a mistake, in all honesty. He should just nod, say that’s nice, and leave and never see this stra- Andy again.

“That’s neat,” is what he should say, but instead he simply says, ‘Is it alright if I join you? Which is weird, considering I’m a stranger, but . . .”

The widening smile on Andy’s face tells him that, yes, it is okay.

* * *

Later, twenty years in time, he sometimes almost regrets asking that question. Only sometimes, and he immediately feels bad about it.

But he always looks bad on those moments and finds out that he was lying to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> haha yeet again bls i feed off of comments and kudos,
> 
> also criticism even though this isnt tht good


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